


much tattoo about nothing

by Deisderium



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Awkward Boners, Blow Jobs, Boners, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, First Time, Genital Piercing, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Tattoo Artist Bucky Barnes, Tattoos, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.





	much tattoo about nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Особенные татуировки без особого смысла](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637050) by [fandom_SteveBucky_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_SteveBucky_2019/pseuds/fandom_SteveBucky_2019), [TillTheEnd_OfTheLine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillTheEnd_OfTheLine/pseuds/TillTheEnd_OfTheLine)



Steve Rogers didn't get a lot of mail; Captain America, however, got reams of it. Steve had struggled against the onslaught of it until Pepper found out that he was answering every letter from a kid, every request for help, for money, for a strong arm; Steve thought in some way he served the purpose of a journal for most of these people, just a journal that made them feel like they were taking action when they hit send or dropped the envelope in the mail.

Pepper had found him revising his reply to an ex-convict in Arkansas in the Avengers' common room at two in the morning once, and the next day, Marlene had gotten in touch and taken over the majority of his mail. They'd figured out the process for her to streamline requests, and he still got the letters and emails that he wanted to answer personally. Anything from a child; anything Marlene didn't know how to answer; anything that couldn't best be addressed with a form letter.

Marlene forwarded him the email from James Barnes without comment, which meant she thought he wasn't going to want to bother with it, but didn't want him not to see it, either for her own amusement for his. Steve clicked on the envelope icon.

_  
_

____

_____ _

Dear Captain Rogers,

I know this is presumptuous, but you have a healing factor and I need some help. I'm a tattoo artist, but i've got a physical disability that's making it difficult to regain my previous skill level. Could I tattoo you? with your healing, you won't be stuck with a shitty tat, and you'd help me get back to where I need to be. I don't know that I have anything to offer you in return, but let me know. Thanks for your time either way,

James Barnes

Steve leaned back. He had the feeling that Marlene had sent this to him more or less as a laugh, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to at least talk to this guy. No one had asked him for anything like this. He hit reply and licked his lips as he thought how he wanted to respond.

oOo

Steve took a second to scope out the coffee shop as he entered, looking around like he didn't know who he was looking for. It was a delaying tactic; he'd looked up James Barnes immediately after replying to him. There were plenty of James Barneses out there, but Jarvis had helped him narrow it down using James's email address. Steve didn't want to pry, but James had an unlocked Instagram account that Steve felt zero shame at perusing. It was mostly art: tattoos and drawings that were clearly intended to be tattoos. He was good, Steve thought. The lines were confident, the colors bold, but the art wasn't without delicacy and nuance.

Then he'd found a selfie set against a sky slashed with sunset. It was of the side of James's face, mostly angular jawline, the curve of his ear, a tangle of dark hair. Steve had wished he could see more of his face, but at least he knew he was looking for a guy with long brown hair.

He scanned the coffee house until he saw him, in a corner booth at the back of the shop, where he could keep an eye on the door. James spotted Steve at the same time Steve saw him and pushed himself to his feet. Steve automatically smiled in greeting as he made his way over.

James was unfairly good-looking. He had high cheekbones to match his square jaw, a dimple in his chin, and a shy smile. He was nearly as tall as Steve, and built. He was also, Steve realized, missing an arm under his pinned-up left sleeve.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said, and held out his hand.

“Yeah, I figured.” The shy smile widened as he took Steve's hand. His palm was warm and callused, and his eyes were a bright blue. “Bucky Barnes. Thanks for coming. I didn't really think you'd meet me.”

"If you didn't think I'd come, why'd you reach out?"

"Just in case you did. Can I get you a coffee?"

"Please. Black's fine."

Steve sat down as James—Bucky—went to the counter to order for them, then turned to watch, biting his lip, as he realized he'd have to carry back two drinks with only one hand. Then he made himself turn around. Bucky was a grown-ass man who could handle getting a coffee order, and he didn't need Steve watching him like he was doing a trick.

Sure enough, Bucky came back to the table a few minutes later with both drinks in a carboard holder, along with a few pastries. He set it down on the table and passed Steve a black coffee, then took out his own drink, something topped with whipped cream and what looked like chocolate shavings.

"So what exactly can I do for you? You mentioned tattooing me?" Steve took a sip of his coffee. It was very good, although it didn't look nearly as decadent as what Bucky had.

Bucky laid his hand flat on the table. "Yeah. I used to be pretty good at it, but I also used to be left-handed. I'm relearning how to do everything with my right hand, but it's not...it's not what it used to be. I've gotten as far as I think I can practicing on inanimate objects. It's different tattooing a person."

"I'm sure it is," Steve said, turning the idea over. Bucky passed him a muffin. "What exactly would you want me to do?"

"In theory, your healing factor should push the ink out of your skin. We could start with a small tat somewhere inconspicuous in case I'm wrong, but if it disappeared, then I could get all my shitty tats out of the way on you." Bucky shrugged and bit his lip. "There's not much in it for you, though. I mean, I don't really have anything I can offer you as a trade unless you have friends looking to get a tattoo..." He looked uncertain, turning his coffee cup in precise circles on the table. Steve didn't like that unsure look on his face.

"Sure, I'll do it," he said. "Before all this—" He waved vaguely toward his chest. "—I was an artist. You can show me what you're doing as you do it, and we'll call it even."

"Really?" Bucky's face lit up, and Steve found himself smiling back.

"Yeah. Just let me know when you want to get started."

oOo

Natasha insisted on vetting Bucky before Steve went to see him. Steve kicked up a fuss, but eventually subsided when Natasha pointed out that tattoo needles would make a really convenient vehicle for all manner of drugs, and reminded him that nasty people had not abandoned their general creepy goal of stealing his blood, whether Hydra or AIM or some random mad scientist. Steve gave in (crankily) and magnanimously didn’t say _I told you so_ when Bucky passed the check.

The day after that, he was standing in front of a run-down apartment building in Brooklyn. He texted Bucky to let him know he was out front. The buzzer rang, and he walked up to the top floor, where Bucky met him in the hallway and waved him into his small apartment.

"It's not much," Bucky said, not exactly apologetically. The living room opened up to a tiny galley kitchen, and a hallway led back to, presumably, a bathroom and bedroom. The furnishings were all worn, the carpet out of date and the paint on the walls chipped here and there. A set of weights and kettlebells were racked against one wall, next to a desk on which was perched a laptop with duct tape wrapped around one corner.

"It's great." It reminded Steve of his own place—not the place SHIELD had gotten him, or the vast, overly-opulent apartment Tony had made for him in the Tower, where he now lived, but his flat in Brooklyn, before the war. It wasn’t nearly as big, but it was infinitely homier than his place in the Tower.

Bucky shrugged, but the set of his shoulders relaxed. "Here's the set up," he said, and pointed to a chair and a bunch of machinery Steve didn't recognize. Bucky explained to him, walking him through the machine, showing him the autoclave and the needles, and the plastic bottles of ink with their red tips neatly lined up, the colors bright and vibrant.

"Do you know what you want?" Bucky asked when he was done.

"Yeah." Steve had thought about it, the possibility of something that stayed, in case the serum worked differently on ink than it did on bullets, and his body didn't reject it. He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and passed it to Bucky, suddenly nervous. It was a page torn out of his sketchbook, a design that he had spent a lot of time on. He'd thought about his men, he'd thought about his mother; he'd thought about Peggy, but in the end, as much as any of them were deserving of tribute, he couldn't memorialize them on his skin. Not if it would stick. The thought was much more painful than any number of needles.

Nor could he take the Cap imagery; the stars, the shield—none of it was him. Not where it counted.

Sam had asked him what made him happy. He still didn't know, not in any deep and meaningful way, but there was one thing he’d always found value in. 

Bucky unfolded the paper. On it was a small drawing of a paintbrush, inked in black, with paint coming from the bristles, colors bleeding into each other, to wrap around the handle like a banner. Bucky smoothed the paper out, and raised an eyebrow.

"You told me you were an artist." He didn't ask why not the shield, why not anything else.

Steve answered him anyway. "If it doesn't go away, I want something that isn't about fighting."

Bucky shrugged with his left shoulder. "Believe me, I get it." He looked at Steve, assessing. "Where do you want it?"

Steve had thought about it. Somewhere not totally conspicuous to strangers, but where he could look at it if he wanted to. Natasha had suggested a tramp stamp or something between his shoulder blades, but Steve wouldn't be able to see it without a mirror. He tapped the inside of his left bicep, where it would nestle against his ribcage like a secret close to his heart.

Bucky was already nodding. "Is this about the size you want?"

"I think so." Not too big; just enough.

Bucky made a copy of the design. Steve started to push his sleeve up, but Bucky shook his head. "You're gonna want to take your shirt off or you'll get blood and ink on it."

Made sense. Steve shrugged out of his shirt and folded it, setting it to one side on the couch. Bucky motioned him to the chair, and Steve tried to remember the last time he'd been half-naked around someone else. Absurdly, even though he was here as a favor to Bucky, he felt nervous, like Bucky was going to judge him.

Bucky helped him shave the spot where the tattoo was going to go, positioned the transfer paper, and a moment later, Steve had a purple outline of his design resting just above the crook of his elbow. It looked so _real_ against his skin, and he was suddenly, viscerally delighted at the idea of a tiny piece of his art, made on him in collaboration with another artist. He shot Bucky a grin.

"I know the point of this is to repeat the experience, but I kind of hope it sticks around," he said.

Bucky's whole expression looked satisfied. "Only one way to find out."

He turned the machine on, held it against Steve's skin so he could feel the buzz of it and know what to expect, loaded the needles with black ink, said, "This is gonna sting," and set the needles against Steve's skin.

_Sting_ wasn't the right word. It burned, but Steve didn't care. It felt—god, it burned in such a good way. The first line Bucky set down sent a wash of fire on his arm, and Steve felt like he was floating.

"You all right?" Bucky paused, watching his face.

"Better than all right." Steve laughed, and then laughed again at himself. He sounded kinda soused.

"Endorphin high," Bucky said. "The body's response to pain."

"Doesn't feel like this when I get punched," Steve mumbled.

Bucky laughed. "Good to know. Here, pull your skin tight for me here." He pointed Steve where he wanted him to go and Steve obediently pulled at the skin. Bucky leaned forward and started to tattoo again.

By the time Bucky switched to the colored inks, Steve was flying high, bemused by both the pain and his body's reaction to it. He was also mesmerized by watching Bucky work. He hesitated a few times as he worked, directing Steve to help him when needed, but mostly his movements were assured, confident. Steve was even more impressed knowing that Bucky was working with his off hand. The whole thing took less than thirty minutes, and Steve was thrilled with the end result.

"What do you think?" Bucky wiped away the excess blood and ink and let Steve get a look at the cleared art. He twisted his arm to get the best angle on it.

"I love it," Steve said, and he really did. He hoped his body didn't reject it. Bucky was frowning a little, though.

"I'll do better next time," he said. Steve looked again and he guessed there were wobbly lines if you looked close, but it was nothing that detracted from the design.

"I love it," Steve said again. He still felt pretty loopy, but better every second. He made to stand up so he could look at his arm in the mirror—

—and then froze.

It wasn't just his mind that had felt like he was flying. His dick was hard, embarrassingly so. He couldn't stand up right now. He hadn't previously thought he particularly got off on pain. He was learning so much about himself.

He started to lower back into the chair.

"It's okay," Bucky said, from where he was gathering the supplies for aftercare. "It's a perfectly natural reaction that a lot of people get."

Steve immediately wished for the ground to open beneath him and swallow him. "Thanks," he said, and willed his dick to settle down. He bit his lip and tried to think about baseball, trench foot, _anything_ that would get rid of his boner.

Bucky slathered ointment over the tattoo and then covered it with plastic film. He ran through a quick list of how often Steve was to clean it and the things he was absolutely not allowed to do. "If it looks like it's not fading, try not to sweat on it," he finished. "I don't know how this'll heal for you or how fast, but you've got my number. Call or text me any time you have a question."

"I appreciate it." Steve was finally able to stand up without embarrassing himself or his host.

"Pretty sure that's my line, since you're the one doing me the favor." Bucky smiled, and pulled the nitrile glove off his right hand by hooking it over what looked like a bottle cap remover on the wall over his trashcan and pulling.

Steve couldn't resist checking out his new ink again. He  hoped it would stay.

He followed Bucky's instructions to the letter. By the next day, little white scabs were forming over the ink and the tattoo itched like hell. Instead of his usual run, he took a much more sedate walk, mindful not to sweat. By the time he got back, the itching was worse and he'd had to snatch his hands back twice before he absentmindedly scratched it.

His phone buzzed with a text.

_Bucky Barnes: how's the ink doing today?_

_Steve Rogers: itchy. There's a little scabbing. Still looks great, though._

_Bucky Barnes: you already have scabs???? wow_

_Bucky Barnes: send me a picture?_

Steve waited until he was in the elevator to push his sleeve up and snap a photo. He sent it to Bucky without comment.

_Bucky Barnes: holy shit, you really do heal fast, i'm impressed_

_Steve Rogers: Is it supposed to itch this much?_

_Bucky Barnes: they always itch but if you have super healing maybe you have super itching too_

_Bucky Barnes: DON'T SCRATCH IT_

_Steve Rogers: I'll resist the urge._

_Bucky Barnes: pls keep me posted_

_Steve Rogers: Will do._

oOo

All in all, Steve got to enjoy his new tattoo for a whopping total of a week before it started to fade. The colors paled, and then strange new scabs rose up from his skin, smudging like chalk dust when he touched them. The ink, he realized, being forced out of his body.

He sighed and took a picture of it to send to Bucky. Without meaning to, he'd fallen into the habit of texting Bucky every day, at first to update him on the progress of the tattoo. But over time, they started chatting about other things. Bucky's family, which had led to Steve talking about his ma and the Commandos. It was easy to open up to him.

Bucky sent Steve pictures of some of the designs he was working on, and Steve sent him back snaps of pages from his sketchbook. Bucky sent him pictures of his lunches for some reason, so Steve sent him pictures of some of his meals too.

And now, he'd sent him the picture of his tattoo, leaving him.

Less than a minute later, his phone rang. He smiled when he saw Bucky's name and answered. "Hey," he said.

"So it works?" Bucky sounded excited. Well, of course he did. This meant he'd get the practice that he wanted. It was a positive development; it was. Steve had just really liked having the ink on his arm.

"Yeah, you'll get to put more of these on me," Steve said. Now that he knew they weren't really permanent, he didn't feel that he had to draw every one, but he hoped Bucky would be open to more that they collaborated on. He'd liked that.

"When can we do the next one?" Bucky said.

Steve thought about it. They were between ops at the moment, and other than training with the Avengers, his schedule was fairly open. "Tomorrow afternoon is good if it works for you."

Bucky was quiet a second. "Really? You don't mind?"

"No," Steve said. "I'm looking forward to it." 

oOo

Steve had given Bucky free rein to do whatever he most wanted to this time, and Bucky had taken him at his word. He had a lush design about the size of Steve’s hand: a tree, branches to roots, with flowers and little animals tucked away inside the branches. All he had on the transfer sheet was the outline, but Steve could picture it with the colors filled in, and in his mind's eye, it was beautiful.

"Is it okay if I do this on your pec?" Bucky asked. "It's going to take a couple of hours, is that all right?"

"Sure," Steve said. "I've got nowhere else to be."

Bucky gave him a funny little smile at that, and Steve leaned back on the chair, already pulling his shirt over his head.

Bucky shaved him carefully and pulled on the glove, straightening it with his teeth. Steve wondered if it would be welcome if he offered to help; decided not to, not yet. Bucky put the transfer on his chest, then loaded up the needle. "I put it a little high," Bucky said as he worked. "Should hurt a little less there."

Steve wasn't exactly worried about the pain, not after last time. He was more concerned about the endorphin high and hoping that he wouldn't get hard again. 

Bucky set the needles to his skin, and once again, it was a line of exquisite agony that sent him rushing off a precipice into space, flying within the confines of his own body and mind.

"You all right, Steve?" Bucky asked after his head lolled back on the chair a few minutes in.

"Fuckin' great," Steve said, because he was. "Still hurts, but in a good way."

"Yeah?" Steve could hear the smile in Bucky's voice, even without opening his eyes.

"I want to watch," Steve said. "In a minute."

"We've got a ways to go, buddy."

"Mmmm," Steve agreed, and breathed through the pain and the high alike.

An endless stretch of time later, Bucky wiped blood and ink off his skin with a gentle hand and said, "Want a break?"

Steve looked down at his chest. The black outline of the tree was done. It looked crisp and sharp and beautiful, the underlying skin only a little pink. Steve assessed himself. He could probably use a break. He still felt like he was flying, but the cessation of pain was kind of nice too.

"Sure," he said, and sat up a little straighter. This time he was aware of it; the pain had stopped except for a somehow satisfying dull throbbing through his chest, and apparently that was the signal for all the blood to rush to his dick. "Oof," he said, dizzy, embarrassed, and overly-aware of the brush of air against his bare skin, the tightening of his nipples.

"You okay?" Bucky said.

"I haven't been able to get drunk since nineteen forty. It's weird feeling loopy," Steve said, skipping right over the issue of his inappropriate erection.

Bucky passed him a bottled water, and Steve uncapped it and drank. He was little surprised to realize how thirsty he was. He drank more slowly and tried to savor the slide of the water over his tongue, down his throat. He craned his neck, trying to take in all the details of the tree.

"Wow, Buck, if we stopped right now, it'd still be spectacular." He touched the pink skin next to the tattoo, winced a little at the extra spike of pain, and then let his finger drop. He looked up and caught Bucky watching him, an expression Steve couldn't quite parse on his face. "Not that I want to stop," he said, in case the expression was uncertainty or disappointment at the thought of Steve tapping out.

"You sure? A lot of people split up bigger pieces over multiple sessions if the pain gets to be too much." Bucky leaned forward to look at the piece again, his eyes flicking back and forth. Steve caught him frowning here and there, presumably where a line didn't arc quite as smoothly as he wanted it to, or where it deviated from the purple outline. His face was so close to Steve's chest. The line of his forehead was a smooth curve interrupted by the furrow of concentration in his brow, the spikes of his eyelashes. He looked up at Steve, and Steve noticed the blue of eyes, stormier than Steve's own, the question in the raised quirk of one eyebrow.

"It's not too much pain," Steve assured him, and leaned back. The leather of the chair was cool against his back, the warmth of his body having already left it.

"Okay." Steve liked that Bucky didn't second-guess him, just accepted that he knew his own limits. He switched needles and loaded up a color. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," Steve said.

Steve was not ready. He had thought he was. He’d been ready for the level of pain of the previous tattoo, but he had not taken into consideration that he was sore from the outline. All the colors were going into flesh already tender from its previous abuse. It only took a few lines to send him leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed, the rush of it carrying him off.

"Steve," Bucky said, after a little while, "can you pull the skin tight for me?"

Steve made himself open his eyes. Bucky directed him to where he wanted him to tug, his fingers above his sternum, pulling his pec taut for Bucky's needles.

"Don't know how I'm going to do this on your back," Bucky muttered. "Need another hand."

Steve's fingertips weren't even close to his nipple, so he couldn’t understand why suddenly he couldn't think of much else beside touching it, letting his fingers drop beneath the skin that pulsed with pain to the hard nub of his own nipple and giving it a tug. It wouldn't even have to distract Bucky, would it? He could just take care of it himself.

He let out a breath that was more than halfway a moan and closed his eyes without moving his hand. Some part of him thought he ought to be embarrassed, but the rest of him was just focused on doing what Bucky had asked and not the hundred other things he wanted to right now.

"Steve?" Bucky said, and Steve made himself look at him again. "Check in with me."

"'m doing good, Buck." But Steve could hear the slur in his own voice, and if he could, Bucky could.

"Why don't we give it a little bit," Bucky suggested. "You can drink some more water for me, make sure you like what I've got on you so far."

Steve nodded, or thought he did, then leaned back and just let himself feel everything he was feeling. His fucking tit hurt, of course, but it was the same burning pain that had every _other_ bit of his skin aching to be touched, his nipples hard and his dick harder. What a fucking thing to find out about himself, now, after turning himself into a science experiment, after committing his life to fighting bullies and an endless series of punches in the face: that some kinds of pain really did it for him. This was quite a fucking voyage of self-discovery. He laughed a little.

"How you feeling?" Steve turned his head to look at Bucky. He was messing with the bottles of ink, but kept shooting Steve these little sidelong glances. He had really long eyelashes.

"Still pretty out there," Steve admitted. "I didn't expect it to feel like this."

"It's okay." Bucky smiled at him. "Getting ink pretty much sends me, too."

Steve thought about this, thought about Bucky feeling the same rush he did, wondered if it made Bucky hard, too. This was probably not a good line of inquiry in his current state.

But apparently his mouth hadn't gotten the memo, because he heard himself say, "Do other people get turned on like this, though?" Bucky's mouth crooked up at the corner, Steve could feel his face heating up, and the new ink stung a little more sharply as the blush swept down his chest. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't apologize," Bucky said. "It's just how your body reacts. And it's not just you—whatever weird thing you think no one else has experienced, someone else has, I promise. In this case lots of someones."

Steve nodded, and drank the water Bucky handed him. The pain was subsiding a little. He looked down at the tattoo, taking in the black lines, the shades of green through the foliage. It was beautiful. "I'm ready for you to finish it," he said.

Bucky nodded, and the machine's buzz filled Steve's ears as he leaned back again.

The trunk and the background didn't take that long, and this time Bucky talked to Steve more. The sound of his voice grounded Steve, even though Steve didn't respond all that much. Bucky didn't seem to mind.

Finally they were done, and Bucky was frowning at his work in a way that was already familiar, looking for flaws, judging the linework and the colors, matching what he'd made with the template in his mind.

"It's beautiful," Steve said, flexing his pec a little, just to watch it move. "Ouch."

"Getting there," Bucky said. "Thanks to you."

Steve was pretty sure any improvement was all on Bucky, not the canvas, but it was nice of him to say. They agreed to meet again next week if the tattoo faded the same as the last one had, Steve promised to send pictures, and Bucky made him go over the aftercare again. Steve told him goodbye, went home to the tower, and threw himself onto the couch almost before the door was finished closing.

He pulled his shirt up and pressed at the tattoo beneath the plastic wrap, sucked in a breath as the pain flared in him again. It wasn't the same, but it was close enough. He jammed his other hand down his pants and a few minutes later he was coming, the pleasure a release of a tight ache in him, the picture of Bucky bent over his chest searing his mind's eye.

Huh. Well, maybe it wasn't entirely about his body's reaction to the pain. 

oOo

It might have been awkward to talk to a fella after you'd come thinking about him, but it wasn't. Steve kept texting him, like they'd done the week before, about his tattoo, but also about whatever else came to mind.

Steve remembered what Bucky had said about tattooing being awkward with only one hand, now that his brain was neither floating in a haze of pain or distracted by his dick, and asked if he had ever thought about getting a prosthetic.

_Bucky Barnes: well sure_

_Bucky Barnes: it'd make things a lot easier_

_Bucky Barnes: but i haven't found one i like_

_Bucky Barnes: they're all uncomfortable or unwieldy_

_Steve Rogers: I have a friend I could ask, if you want one a little more high tech and flexible. She could probably set you up with something better if you wanted._

_Bucky Barnes: thanks, but I probably couldn't afford anything too fancy_

Steve's thumb hovered over the screen. He wanted to say that Shuri would probably do it regardless of the cost—he knew there was a prosthetics program for Wakandan veterans and she was spearheading an American program at her Oakland facility—or that he'd happily pay for it; both of which were true, but probably a little too much for someone he'd only known a few weeks.

_Steve Rogers: it couldn't hurt to ask. Let me know if you change your mind._

And after that, he sent a picture of his tattoo and a report on how it was healing so Bucky wouldn't feel like he was pressing him. He knew he had a tendency to come on strong, and he didn't want to push, not about this.

So by the time he came back to Bucky's apartment, he had gotten past whatever awkwardness he felt about seeing Bucky after getting off to thoughts of him. Their session for that tattoo, a classic old-style bird on Steve's other bicep, was no more awkward than usual. Steve didn't bring up his erection, and Bucky was kind enough to ignore it. Steve jerked off again as soon as he got home 

It was the same for the next session, a small spaceship in a big galaxy inked down his forearm. Steve spent the whole time in a haze, endorphins flooding his system, watching Bucky's face bent over his arm, hard and aching and wanting.

The time after that, he was called out for an op and had to cancel. 

_Steve Rogers: Sorry, won't make it today. A mission came up._

_Steve Rogers: We can reschedule when I get back._

_Bucky Barnes: sure thing_

_Bucky Barnes: stay safe, ok?_

_Steve Rogers: I'll do my best._

_Bucky Barnes: make sure you do_

_Bucky Barnes: I have plans for you_

Steve had to put his phone away after that, not just for opsec but because it would probably compromise the seriousness of the mission if Captain America was grinning like an idiot the whole time. The whole thing went pretty smoothly—his team extracted a group of scientists from the hostiles who had captured them and were trying to suborn them to join team bad guy and bring their research along with them—with minimal injuries. Steve himself had only suffered a couple of cracked ribs and a few bumps and scratches. By the time he'd gone through medical, the debrief, and the post mission shower, he was tired and wanted nothing more than to eat his own weight in takeout and collapse on his bed, but was ready to settle for sucking down a protein shake in the interest of getting to the collapse faster.

He checked his phone and was pleasantly surprised to see a few texts from Bucky: a picture of his neighbor's cat, a page out of his sketchbook, and a _let me know when you're back from saving the world_ along with a _hope youre safe_.

_Made it back_ , he sent. _Call you tomorrow?_

It was only a few seconds before his phone buzzed. _i'd love that_.

_tomorrow :)_ , he sent, and then crawled under his blankets with no intention of emerging anytime soon. 

oOo

When he woke up the next morning, Steve was stiff and sore, and his ribs were mottled in purple and green. He groaned as he rolled over, feeling every inch of his stiff muscles. Sam had sent him a text saying he'd go running again when medical cleared him. Steve grunted; wasn’t up to it either and had slept through their usual time anyway.

He moved slowly, brushing his teeth, making coffee, letting the aches and stresses of the last several days slowly roll off of him. He was contemplating his breakfast options after cramming an uninspired protein bar into his maw when his phone buzzed.

_Bucky Barnes: are you up? can i call?_

_Steve Rogers: Yes and sure._

A second later his phone rang, and he swiped to answer it.

"Hey Steve," Bucky said. Steve could hear city sounds behind him: traffic, people talking.

"Bucky." He yawned. "Sorry. I think I slept for about twelve hours."

"Yeah? Are you hungry?"

"I was just trying to figure out what to eat."

"I'm in Manhattan. You want to grab something?" The thought of seeing Bucky was already making this day a lot better than the last five, but also every part of him hurt. He was trying to think of how to say that when Bucky said. "Or I could bring something to you. There's about a thousand restaurants between here and the Tower."

"That would be amazing," Steve said, because suddenly there wasn't anything he wanted more than Bucky with a giant pile of some kind of food to appear in front of him. "I'll let security know to send you up."

Forty-five minutes later, the bell to Steve's apartment rang, and Bucky appeared carrying several bags looped around his wrist, enveloped in a cloud of delicious smells from the Thai place down the street.

Steve helped him set the bags down and once he was unencumbered, Bucky gave him a thorough looking-over. Steve spread his arms wide, saw Bucky's gaze track from the scrapes along his face to the shallow cut down his left arm. Steve was wearing a white t-shirt, looser than he usually did, and Bucky frowned at it. "You okay under there?"

"Cracked a couple of ribs." Steve shrugged, then winced.

Bucky sucked on his lip, looking consideringly at Steve's torso. Steve caught his eye, thought about it for a moment, and rucked his shirt up far enough so Bucky could see the worst of it. It wasn't weird, he told himself; Bucky had seen him shirtless a lot by this point, and he was obviously concerned about Steve's injuries. Bucky hissed in a breath when he caught sight of the bruising, but as Steve looked at his own torso, he thought it was already looking a little better than it had earlier in the day. Bucky touched the purpled skin so lightly that Steve could barely feel it, then pulled his hand back.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have asked."

"It's okay," Steve said. "It didn't hurt." He pulled his shirt back down.

Bucky shook his head, but started pulling out cartons of pad thai and curried chicken, and Steve went to get plates, biting his lip as he reached up over his head. "Hey, I can get those," Bucky said from behind him.

"Already got 'em." Steve set them down on the table and then for a while they were mostly quiet while they ate. It felt companionable in a way that Steve hadn’t felt this century. 

There was no reason for Bucky to be here, no tattoo, no meeting; he'd just wanted to see Steve, even if he'd been in the area for some other reason.

"What were you doing in Manhattan?" Steve asked.

Bucky set down the spring roll he'd been picking up and squared it to the edge of the plate. "Honestly," he said, his eyes on the plate, the tips of his ears reddening a little, "I was worried about you and I didn't want to wait until our next session to see you."

Something warm and happy uncurled in Steve's chest. "Well, thanks," he said. "I wanted to see you too."

Bucky looked up at that and smiled, and after that they just talked. Steve was surprised to realize that several hours had passed; the cartons were empty, the plates were clean, and Bucky had glanced at his phone and done a double take before saying he needed to leave.

"Thanks again for coming by," Steve said at the door.

"Thanks for letting me come up." Bucky slung his messenger back over his shoulder and smiled at Steve. "I'll see you at our next session?"

That was a week away. Steve hesitated for just a moment, then said, "Sure. Or if you want, we could get together before then? We could go somewhere, or you're welcome here anytime."

The skin around Bucky's eyes wrinkled as he smiled. "I'd like that."

"I'll text you," Steve said, and Bucky nodded, and then he was gone.

oOo

In retrospect, some barrier lifted after that, some distinction between their arrangement and actual friendship. They still called and texted each other daily, and they started getting together more often after that. Steve would drop by Bucky's apartment for no real reason other than he wanted to see him, and Bucky would stop by the Tower if he was in Manhattan. They started getting lunch together a few times a week, either out or in one of their apartments. Steve broached again, cautiously, the idea of a prosthetic designed by Shuri, and Bucky agreed to think about it, although Steve knew the cost was a concern.

Every week, Avenging permitting, Bucky gave Steve a tattoo that one or the other of them had designed, and every week it faded away. Steve wished more and more that he could keep them, have some mark of Bucky's permanently on his skin. Every week when Steve left, he got himself off thinking of Bucky's hands on him, the pain of the needles, and it was hard not to feel guilty for it the more he came to like and admire Bucky. Not guilty enough to stop. But the more he liked him, the more attractive he found him, too, not just when he was inadvertently turned on beneath his tattoo machine—more than he had anyone since he woke up in this century. He just didn't know what to do about it.

Bucky had made progress to the point that he had started taking pictures for his portfolio. Steve wondered if it meant that he thought he was getting good enough that he wouldn't need Steve anymore. Would they keep meeting up? Would they still be friends? 

He thought they might. He hoped so.

Steve was meeting Bucky for lunch at a deli not far from his apartment. The weather had gotten warmer, which Steve hadn't given much thought to until he slid into the booth across from Bucky, who was wearing a t-shirt; a simple, white, v-neck, a little tighter than the layers of shirts and sweaters Steve was used to seeing him in.

He had smiled and stood up when he saw Steve moving across the restaurant toward him, and as he leaned forward to sit back down, Steve caught a glimpse down his shirt and caught the glint of metal along curved muscle and chest hair. His mouth went a little dry. What even—

"Hey, Steve," Bucky said, smiling a little, and Steve felt heat travel up his face.

"Sorry," he said, resolutely _not_ looking at Bucky's chest.

"It's fine," Bucky said, and Steve felt like he might be laughing at him, though not obviously; it was in the sparkle in his eyes, the curve of his lip. "I can show you later if you're curious."

_This is a terrible idea_ , the part of his brain that felt guilty about jerking off to thoughts of his friend whispered, but the rest of him was saying, "Only if you don't mind. It's not my business."

"After lunch," Bucky said easily, and they talked about nothing much through the meal while Steve tried not to look at Bucky's chest.

When they were done and walking back to Bucky's apartment, Steve was still trying not to look. The spring sun was bright, and the air felt relatively clean, and he wanted to sling an arm over Bucky's shoulder and pull him closer, only he wasn't sure what his reception would be. He still hadn’t quite found the balance between Steve and Captain America, and while he never felt like Cap while he was with Bucky, he didn’t know how Bucky thought about him; not yet. He jammed his hands into his pockets instead.

Their strides matched each other, and it was pleasant to walk side-by-side in the sunshine. Bucky kept shooting Steve little smiles, and he couldn't help but grin back. The walk up the steps to Bucky's apartment was familiar by now, and Steve followed him and waited while he got the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

Once they were inside and the door was locked, Bucky turned to him. "Do you want to see?"

Steve's pulse thumped in his throat, faster. "Only if you want me to."

Bucky shrugged. "I've seen you with your shirt off."

A rational reply would be that that was for a purpose; that it wasn't a contest, they didn't have to be tit-for-tat.

But he wasn't particularly rational about Bucky, and he hadn't been for a long while. He just nodded, unsure of what might come out of his mouth if he tried to talk.

Bucky pulled his shirt up. It wasn't like he was trying to put on a show, but Steve was watching intently as the planes of his abdomen came into view, the dip of his navel, the arch of his ribcage. Bucky watched Steve watching him, and Steve knew he was giving himself up, but he couldn't look away. Bucky pulled the hem of his shirt up high enough that Steve could see his nipples, brown and flat against the swell of his pectoral muscle, but hard and pointed where the hardware pierced through. Steve licked his lips and stepped closer.

"You can look," Bucky said, so Steve did. Both nipples had curved barbells through them; the left also had a thinner, vertical bar through it. Steve wondered how it felt. Were his nipples always this hard? Did the two pieces of metal through the left feel different; did they brush up against each other? In a perfect world, he could touch them and find out, lick over the piercing and flesh alike, roll the metal under his tongue.

Steve bit the inside of his lip, then noticed the ink curving around Bucky's left shoulder. It was mostly hidden by his rucked-up shirt, but Steve could see black and white and blue, sweeping feathers filled in with geometric designs, with scar tissue beneath. He looked up and met Bucky's gaze, still watching Steve as he took it all in. But Bucky hadn't been showing him that; he'd been showing him the piercings. Steve looked back to them, then back to Bucky's face. "Did they hurt, when you did them?"

"Yes," Bucky said. "But...like it hurts when I tattoo you."

Steve's ears burned, but he didn't let himself look away. "Then I bet it feels pretty good now."

Bucky kept his eyes on Steve, but let go of the hem of his shirt and rubbed his thumb over his right nipple. "Yeah," and his voice was breathier than it had been. "It does."

Steve watched the roll of his thumb, the way the metal moved with the skin. His dick was straining against his jeans, and there wasn't a tattoo needle, wasn't anything but Bucky in front of him. He had never wanted so desperately to touch someone. The collar of Bucky’s t-shirt was slightly frayed on one side, and Steve wanted to press his thumb to the weak spot in the fabric, maybe rip it, put his mouth on Bucky, taste his lips, his piercings, feel the metal against his tongue.

"I got 'em after I got back from Afghanistan." Bucky moved his thumb away from his nipple, and Steve blinked, his head clearing like he'd walked outside into cold air.

"Yeah? How long ago?"

"Been back a year and a half," he said. "Got these done about six months back."

Bucky wouldn't have mentioned it if the two weren't connected, but Steve couldn't quite draw the line between them. "And the ink?" He nodded toward Bucky's left shoulder. "I mean, if you want to—"

"It's over the scarring." He took a breath. "IED, if you were wondering."

"Can I see?" Steve asked.

Bucky hesitated for a second, eyes locked on Steve's face, and Steve opened his mouth to say no, he didn't want to if Bucky didn't, but Bucky pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, and there it was.

The stump of his arm was scarred, but Steve hardly noticed it. He was familiar enough with Bucky's style by now to recognize that it was Bucky's art, swallows flying through a hedge of briar roses, thick with flowers and thorns, blooms and birds alike filled in with geometric shapes in shades of blue and gray, touched with black and white here and there. Someone else had wielded the machine, obviously, but...

"It's beautiful, Bucky," Steve said. His eyes stung a little, and he blinked rapidly before he looked up.

Tension had gone out of the set of Bucky's shoulders, and Steve hated that he had been even a little nervous about Steve seeing him.

"I got tired of looking at the scars. It felt like all I could see sometimes."

“It’s beautiful,” Steve said again. “I wish you could give me one I could keep.”

Bucky flicked his thumb over his nipple again and shivered, and Steve bit his lip. "And this was just...I had so much physical therapy, so much to learn about how to use my body differently. This was a reminder that it's still mine, some things don't have to be worked for." He shot Steve a grin. "And it looks cool."

"Yeah," Steve said. "That it does."

And maybe there was something in his voice, or the way he was looking at Bucky, because Bucky said, "Do you want to touch?" 

Part of Steve wanted to lob the ball back to him, to ask if he wanted him to, but he wouldn't have offered if he didn't mean it, so Steve was honest.

"Yes." There wasn't much distance between them, and Steve closed it in a couple of steps. He slid his fingers under Bucky's thumb first, over the nipple with the barbell, rubbing slowly, letting himself feel the contrast between the soft skin and the hard, smooth metal, both warm with Bucky's body heat. Bucky shuddered beneath his touch and let out a breath. Steve brought his other hand around to the nipple with both the barbell and the vertical bar and rubbed his thumb over it. Bucky's lashes fluttered low, dark against his cheekbones, and his breath hitched.

"Does it feel different?" Steve's voice was low, rougher than he thought it would be. "With two pieces of jewelry."

"Yeah," Bucky said. "They're both pretty sensitive but— _fuck_." Steve rolled both his thumbs over Bucky's nipples at the same time, and his head lolled back. His chest was heaving with the force of his breath under Steve's hands, and Steve thought each individual cell in his body might be on fire. "The left one's more sensitive," Bucky managed to say.

Steve let his hands skate lower, over Bucky's ribcage. His skin was soft, a few shades darker than Steve's own, gold where Steve was porcelain-pale. "Can I—" Steve lowered his face toward Bucky's chest, but looked up at him through his eyelashes, waiting.

Bucky brought his hand around and curled his fingers through Steve's belt loop. "Yeah," he said, and his voice was hoarse too.

Steve tightened his hands on Bucky's ribcage, slid them down his sides to his hip, and set his mouth over Bucky's left nipple. He ran his tongue over the piercings, over the bars, scraped his upper teeth lightly along the edge of the areola. Bucky's hand tightened on Steve's hip, and Steve flattened his tongue over nipple and metal and pressed, licking up Bucky's chest, looking up so he could see Bucky's face.

Bucky panted out a _fuck_ and pulled Steve closer to him. His eyes were wide, pale blue ringed by dark lashes, and strands of hair were coming loose from his ponytail. Steve wanted to climb him, or crawl into him, or melt all over him. All of them at once, maybe. Bucky was breathing in harsh panting breaths, but then, Steve sounded like he'd been running, like his lungs couldn't draw in enough breath.

"Is this—do you want to—" Bucky shut his eyes and swallowed, and Steve pulled him close, not quite flush against him, his hands following the curve of his ribs.

"Yes," Steve said. "God, yes."

Bucky opened his eyes and said, "Tell me what you want to do."

"I want to kiss you," Steve said, and the skin around Bucky's eyes creased with a smile that didn't quite reach his mouth.

Bucky tangled his hand in Steve's shirt and pulled him closer, tilted his head, until their lips fit together. It was sweet and chaste for a moment, a hello of a kiss, but Steve was burning for more of him, so he opened his mouth and Bucky met him there too. Steve sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and Bucky gasped a moan. Steve slid a hand up to tangle in Bucky's hair, rubbed the other one over his nipple and the piercing there. Bucky groaned and dropped his head down to lick along the tendon in Steve's neck. Steve could feel the pulse of his blood in his cock.

"I'm starting to feel underdressed," Bucky said against his throat, and Steve leaned back only long enough to yank his shirt over his head and throw it, not much caring where it landed. Bucky ran his hand over his shoulders, over his pec, over the ridges of muscle in his abdomen. "I like looking at you," he said. 

"Yeah?" Steve leaned into his touch, watched as Bucky's thumb traced over the faded remains of last week's tattoo, a band circling the swell of his bicep.

"Yeah." Bucky tugged him closer again, until their bellies and chests were touching, a long line of skin touching skin. "And it’s fun to tattoo you."

"It’s fun for me too." Steve ran his hands down Bucky's back, the slide of skin silk-soft over hard muscles.

"I can tell," Bucky murmured. "I told you—it’s a reaction to the endorphins from the needles. It's fine."

Steve felt the blood rush to his face, knew that he was red. "Sure. But also, I just like you," he said. "No needles here right now."

Bucky stroked a line down Steve's side. "Yeah," he said, and there was something almost wondering in his voice "Just you and me."

"I thought about you." Steve ducked his head to the notch of Bucky's clavicle and licked into the skin there, tasting salt. "After I left and went back to my place."

Bucky groaned. "Did you touch yourself and think about me? I did. Every time, when you left."

"Jesus, Bucky." Steve flattened his hands along Bucky's spine, shaped them to the curve of his lower back. He was burning up. “Yes. I did.”

"Do you want to touch me now?" Bucky looked at him through his eyelashes.

"Fuck." Steve rocked his hips against Bucky's. "Yes. Yes, anything you want."

Bucky dropped to his knees in one swift movement and rested his hand on the button of Steve's khakis.

Steve licked his lips as Bucky unzipped his fly. After so long imagining him, he felt not quite certain that this was real. But Bucky's hand was warm on the swell of his belly, fingers curled through the hair there, and Steve could smell his detergent, his shampoo, his sweat. Steve couldn't be embarrassed by how hard he was, by how much he wanted Bucky; he wanted him like he wanted air, like he wanted the pulse of his blood through his veins.

"I thought about this," Bucky said against Steve's hip. "About tasting you. I want to."

Steve reached forward and tangled his fingers in Bucky's hair, the strands of soft and sliding against his skin. "Please."

Bucky slid Steve's khakis down his hips, palmed his dick over his boxers. His hand was warm even through the thin cotton and Steve couldn't help the moan that escaped him. Bucky leaned forward and lipped along the ridge of Steve's cock to the head. His breath was hot through the fabric.

Bucky pulled Steve's boxers down and wrapped his hand around Steve's cock, slowly jacking the length of him.

"Please." Steve's voice sounded deeper, hoarser, in his own ears. 

Bucky looked up at him and licked from the root of his dick to the head, lapped at the pre-come beading at the slit. Steve had to remind himself to breathe, hope that his knees wouldn't wobble. It felt so good, hot and wet, and it was Bucky. Bucky made a low noise, and Steve felt it, in his dick, and in the pulse of the blood through his body. Bucky braced his hand against Steve's hip and stopped teasing. He swallowed Steve's cock, licking the head, falling into a rhythm.

Steve could have stayed there forever, poised at the edge of a vast, intense pleasure, but his body wouldn't let him, and all too soon, he was racing towards release, his balls drawing up tight to his body, his blood pounding in his ears.

"Bucky," he said, "wait, I'm gonna come."

Bucky looked up at him through his lashes, waited until Steve's cock was pulsing with the beginning of his orgasm, and pulled back, wrapping his hand around Steve's dick and stroking him through it as Steve's come spattered his face and chest.

"Fuck," Steve said. “Christ, you’re a picture.”

Bucky licked the corner of his mouth. Come was in his chest hair, clinging to one barbell. Steve slid down until he was kneeling in front of him and kissed him hard, then bent forward to lick his nipple clean. Bucky moaned and arched his back, and Steve got his arms under him and moved them both to the couch.

Then it was his turn to kneel, Bucky spread out in front of him like a feast, still streaked with come, his skin flushed, his chest heaving with his gasping breaths. Steve licked and kissed his way across his torso, rubbing the soft skin of his belly on his way to undoing the top button of Bucky's jeans. He tugged downward and Bucky lifted his hips to help him get them off. Steve hooked his fingers over the waistband of the jeans and Bucky's underwear and pulled them down his legs.

Steve had to stop for a second as his brain shorted out. 

Bucky's cock was long and hard, flushed red, but that wasn't what caught Steve's breath. There was a shining metal ring through his dick, from the underside of the head through the slit. Pre-come beaded along the metal. Steve ran a finger lightly long the underside of Bucky's dick to where the metal emerged from his skin.

"Does this one feel good too?" He looked up at Bucky's face; his eyes were hooded and dark with want.

"Yeah," Bucky said, "it does."

"Good." Steve licked up the line his finger had just drawn, and Bucky shuddered under him. He traced the piercing with his tongue, tasted the bitterness of the pre-come, the salt of Bucky's skin. The metal was hard in his mouth, but Bucky’s skin was velvet-soft, and so hot against his lips. He curled a hand around the base of Bucky's cock, the crinkled hair soft against his hand, and slid his mouth over the head. The piercing felt strange against the roof of his mouth, but no more awkward than sucking a dick was anyway. He licked and pressed with his tongue, hollowing a space in his throat, and listened for Bucky's sighs and moans, picking up the pace when it sounded like Bucky wanted him to.

Bucky's hand threaded through his hair, not pushing or directing him, just resting in one more point of connection between the two of them. "Fuck, Steve, that feels so good," he half-whispered, half-groaned. Steve licked along the metal of the piercing again, then took Bucky deeper into his mouth, relaxing his throat so the piercing wouldn't trigger his gag reflex.

"Shit, Steve, I'm—"

Bucky's cock pulsed in his mouth, and maybe he should have drawn back and returned the favor of letting Bucky come on him, but he wanted to taste Bucky instead, so he swallowed as Bucky came down his throat. Bucky tugged at his hair, and Steve pulled off of him, dropping a kiss on Bucky's softening cock before he climbed up him.

Bucky kissed him, hand dropping to cup along the angle of Steve's jaw. Steve ran his hands up and down Bucky's back, enjoying the slide of his skin without the urgency he'd felt before. It could have been awkward, the two of them lying mostly-naked on the couch, the taste of come still in Steve' mouth, but it wasn't. He felt comfortable with him.

The kiss turned lighter, and Bucky tensed a little.

"You okay?" Steve said against his mouth.

"Yeah. I just—is this all right?"

Steve pulled away just far enough that he could look at Bucky. "Why wouldn't it be?"

The line between Bucky's eyebrows eased. "I don't know. You're you, and..." He shrugged, and Steve felt it all long his body. He wanted to keep his skin pressed against Bucky's always.

"Yeah? Well, I like you, in case you couldn't tell."

Bucky snorted against him. "Are you saying you want to do this again sometime?"

"Lots of times, hopefully," Steve said.

Bucky's arm tightened around him. "I bet that could be arranged."

Everything changed, and surprisingly little changed.

They still talked daily, they still texted a lot, they still had their weekly tattoo sessions; only the frequency they saw each other in between increased, and they had what Steve was pleased to think was a lot of sex. Not that he had a basis for comparison in the current century, but whenever he'd been with men in the 1930s, it had been furtive out of necessity. This was easy; this was open. Steve hadn’t ever liked anyone as much as he liked Bucky, and he'd definitely never liked touching anyone as much as he liked touching Bucky.

"Fuck," Bucky said, turning off the tattoo machine and setting it down. He laid a hand on Steve's back, warm even through the nitrile glove.

Steve turned his head, a little high from the pain and a lot turned on. He didn't like Bucky tattooing his back as much as he did his chest or arm, where he could watch, but Bucky had wanted to try. "What is it?"

"Sorry," Bucky said. "I just—I can't stretch your skin the way I need to, to get this right." He blew out a breath, frustration in his voice. "It's fine when you can help me, but I can't just ask people to only tattoo their fronts."

"Come with me to see Shuri," Steve said. "It couldn't hurt to hear what she has to say, right?"

Bucky's hand went still on Steve's back. "If she’s a good as you say it is, I can't afford it."

There was a tightness in his voice that Steve didn't like, and maybe if he hadn't been flying a little, he wouldn't have said it; but then again, maybe he would. "She runs a program you might qualify for, and if not...I've got a lot of backpay just sitting in my account."

There was a click as Bucky set the tattoo machine down. He walked around so he could look at Steve. "It'd be a lot of money. I've looked. Like, you could buy a very nice car amounts of money."

Steve shrugged, then bit his lip as the movement sent another wash of pain through him, pleasure chasing at its heels. Bucky smiled a little, probably at the expression of dumb lust on Steve's face. "Yeah, well. I've got a lot of money, and I'm not spending it on much. I want to. You're important to me."

Bucky's face went very still, and then he reached out and trailed his fingers down Steve's jaw. "We're going to talk more about this when you come down again."

Steve reached out and tugged him closer, and leaned up to kiss him. It turned heated fast, Bucky licking into his mouth, his hand tight on Steve's shoulder. Steve pressed forward, trying to rock his hips against Bucky. Bucky laughed, low and a little breathless.

"At least let me bandage your terrible half-finished tattoo first," Bucky said.

"All right," Steve said, "if you're quick."

Later. when they were sweaty and had cooled off enough that Steve had pulled the blanket over both of them and Steve was pressing a kiss into Bucky's mussed-up sex hair, Bucky said, "Did you mean it?"

"Of course I did." Steve stroked a hand down Bucky's back, tracing the curve of his spine. "You should be able to do whatever you want to. I'd be happy if you let me pay for it."

"I mean." Bucky turned and nuzzled up against Steve, nosing into his shoulder. "You said I was important to you."

Steve's hands tightened on Bucky, because it was so obvious to him. he was a little surprised that Bucky was questioning it. "You are. You're the person I like best, and I want you to be happy."

Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat, then flipped Steve over and flopped on him like a blanket. Steve did not object in the slightest.

"You're my favorite too." Bucky curled his fingers through Steve's, and kissed a path up his throat, from his pulse to his mouth.

oOo

Shuri's lab in Oakland was like a Star Trek set but better, white and shiny and modern, blue lights everywhere.

Steve and Bucky had taken Tony's quinjet to California, to the Wakandan outreach center. Shuri's lab was spacious, at the top of the building. Tony was jealous—Steve knew because Tony had told him multiple times—but after the mess in Sokovia and his reaction to that dickbag in Vienna, Steve figured Shuri was allowed to ban Tony from her lab as long as she wanted to. She'd been interested in Bucky's situation ever since Steve had mentioned it to her, and she was welcoming when they showed up.

"I don't know how to thank you," Bucky began to say, but Shuri cut him off.

"I've been working with a neural interface. You're doing me a favor, really; I need more subjects to test the interface on. You'd have to let us monitor the data and check up on the arm every so often—more at first, but less and less as the technology integrates." She watched him carefully. "It will mean at least two procedures, maybe three; an initial invasive surgery to implant the interface, possibly a second surgery, and then a three to four week visit to install and calibrate the arm."

Bucky chewed on his lower lip, then glanced at Steve. "You know I can’t pay for this."

Steve opened his mouth to say that he had it, but Shuri waggled her hand back and forth before he could speak. "Some of it will be taken care of it. Captain Rogers has offered to cover what Wakanda does not."

Bucky looked at Steve a little longer this time, one eyebrow raised as if to say _Are you sure_? even though they’d talked about it. Steve nodded. He'd been certain that he’d do that much for him almost since he met Bucky, even before he’d realized that he loved him.

_Wait, what?_

Before he’d realized…that he was important to him. That he cared about him. That he was the person he most looked forward to talking to, to seeing. The person he most wanted to touch. The person whose well-being was the most important to him, whose happiness he most cared about. Whose happiness was integral to his own.

He did love him. He had for a long time. It was just that he hadn’t put words to it until now.

Shuri was still talking. "...can schedule the first surgery for this week, if you decide to go through with it. Then once the interface has been accepted, which should take four to six weeks, we can integrate the arm."

"Four to six weeks?" Steve said, setting aside his own emotional revelations. "That seems like an awfully short recovery time for a surgery of this scale."

"In any other facility it would be," Shuri said smugly. "But although we do not have your serum here, our ability to accelerate healing is unparalled anywhere else." She turned back to Bucky. "You'll need someone to stay with you for a few days during the surgery and in the first week afterwards."

He jammed his hand in his pocket. "I can call my sister." Steve thought he saw reluctance in the lines of his shoulders, though.

"Or I could stay with you," Steve said.

"You don't have to do that." Bucky shot him a look.

"I want to." Steve shrugged. "I'll be worrying about you anyway, so really, you'd be doing me a favor if you let me stay with you."

This time it was a longer look, but Steve met Bucky's gaze until Bucky turned back to Shuri. "Yeah, Steve'll take care of me."

Shuri smiled at Bucky. "Then let's get you scheduled."

oOo

The night before the surgery, Bucky wasn't allowed to eat or drink after midnight, so Steve spent the time after dinner distracting him from the upcoming procedure to the best of his ability in the cool sheets of their hotel bed. He shaped his body with his hands, traced his piercings with his tongue until Bucky was writhing on the bed, the muscles in his body taut, toes and fingers gripping the sheets as Steve chased his orgasm with hands and mouth. Steve swallowed as Bucky came, drinking him in until he was still and gasping, and then Steve slid his fingers out and kissed his way up Bucky's hip.

Bucky pushed him down and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Steve had been on the edge for what felt like hours, and it didn't take long until his hips were jerking up, his balls tight against his body, and he was gasping out Bucky's name as his own come striped his chest and belly.

Bucky curled up against him, both of their breaths slowing. Steve grabbed the box of kleenex off the nightstand and wiped himself off as best he could so he could wrap his arms around Bucky.

"I'm nervous about tomorrow," Bucky said quietly against Steve's shoulder, his hand playing idly with Steve's chest hair.

Steve rubbed a hand up his spine and into Bucky's hair, sliding through the loose strands, thinking of what he wanted to say. The doctors here were the best, but Bucky knew that. Steve would be there, but he knew that too. "It'd be something if you weren't," Steve finally said. "No matter how good the doctors are, it's still a risk."

"The last time I had surgery was after I lost the arm," Bucky said. "I woke up, and it was gone, and I was in the hospital. I keep telling myself that this is different, that I'm choosing it...you'll be there the whole time?"

"Of course." Steve pressed a kiss against his temple, aching for that past-Bucky, his feelings for Bucky here and now tender in his chest. "You're fucking brave, Buck."

Bucky snorted, muffled against Steve's skin. "I don't know, Steve."

"You're nervous but you're doing it anyway," Steve said. "Sounds like what brave is to me." And he thought about telling him that he loved him, but it wasn't so much a question of his own bravery as of dropping what might be a bombshell on him the night before surgery. He refused to think about the chances that he might not be able to tell him afterward; the risks were minimal here.

They had never defined what they were doing, had slid from friendship into sex, and that was fine; it was just that now what Steve felt was more, and he didn't know whether it would be welcome or not—but even if it was, this wasn't the right time. He could only try to use his body like a wire to conduct the electricity of his feelings. He wrapped himself around Bucky and hoped that how much he cared would pass via osmosis through their skins.

oOo

Steve had spent enough time sick before the serum and enough time recovering from gunshots and fractures since it to know that recovery was boring as hell for the person going through it, so he was glad when Bucky slept through most of the first couple of days. Bucky was out most of the day after his surgery, sedation and his body's fatigue keeping him unconscious. By the second day, he was awake for longer stretches of time, but still prone to fall asleep mid-sentence.

Steve watched him, not worried about coming across like a creeper when Bucky wasn't awake. When he was sick; when Steve had the excuse of concern to look at him. He was pale, his dark hair like ink against his skin, blue veins visible at his temple and along his arms. He was bandaged at his shoulder and at his hand where the IV had gone in, but Shuri had told him that he was to leave the bandages alone and not to clean them until someone qualified with more than field medicine came to check in on them. So all Steve had to do at the moment was look his fill and think about what he wanted to say to Bucky when he woke up, besides "Can I help you to the bathroom?" or "Soup again or solid food?"

When Bucky did finally wake up for real, it began like all the false starts, with ice chips and sleepy murmurs, but this time, instead of drifting off, his gaze sharpened. "Steve?" he mumbled.

"Right here," Steve said. "Ice?"                                          

"Mmmhm." Bucky turned his head and Steve fed him some ice, not for the first time. Steve watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed. It wasn't desire but only a vast, aching tenderness that the sight inspired in him. Without thinking too hard about it, he reached back to tuck a loose strand of Bucky's hair behind his ears.

"Is it a rat's nest," Bucky croaked.

"Nah," Steve said. "Sexy bedhead, that's all."

Bucky snorted a laugh, then pushed himself up. His hand went to the bandage at his shoulder and he frowned.

"Shuri said to leave it alone until they check on you," Steve said. "They wanted to wait until you were awake. You think you'll be up for it today?"

Bucky nodded, so Steve texted the doctor to let her know Bucky was up.

"Is it stupid that I'm worried about my tattoo?" Bucky said, prodding the bandage again.

"No." There was no reason for Steve not to sit next to him on the bed, so he did. Bucky slumped against him, tucking his face against Steve's chest. Steve wrapped his arm around him, heart thumping a little. "But even if they had to cut it, you could fix it, right? Someone could touch it up."

"Probably," Bucky said. "I hope so."

They leaned against each other, Steve feeding Bucky ice chips, until the doctor showed up. Everything looked good, she told them; and she unwrapped the bandages to reveal the port at Bucky's shoulder. The skin around it was red but less inflamed than Steve would have expected; the doctor explained the technology that was facilitating Bucky's healing, but Steve only understood about half of it.

"As long as it works, that's the main thing," Bucky said when she was gone. He craned around to look at the port, then turned back to Steve. "Thanks for being here."

"There's really not anywhere I'd rather be," Steve said, and meant it.

oOo

The month between the first surgery and the calibration procedure passed more quickly than Steve had thought it would, with Bucky and Shuri running tests on the port remotely as Bucky's nerves healed and connected to it. Without thinking about it, Steve had more or less moved into Bucky's apartment to help him out.

About a week in, Bucky was able to get around much better, and Steve had washed all the clothes he'd brought with him three times.

"I need to run by the Tower and pick up a few things," Steve said. "Check in with Nat."

Bucky's face did something complicated. "Of course," he said. "You've been so—you don't have to—"

"I'd like to come back if you want me to," Steve said. Bucky watched him. Steve wished he knew what he was thinking. "Only if you want me to, though."

"I want you to," Bucky said, fast enough that Steve didn't doubt him. "But don't you have other things you could be doing? Captain America things?"

"If it's an emergency, they'll call me," Steve said. "Until then, I'm all yours."

At that, Bucky smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve said, and if it sounded like a promise in his head, no one had to know but him.

oOo 

A week before the procedure to attach the prosthetic arm, Steve did get called in for an Avengers emergency; some asshole from Latveria— _the_ asshole from Latveria, if Tony was to be believed—had built an army of Doombots, which was frankly a little on the nose for Steve, but Tony said they needed him, so he went.

"I don't know if I'll be back in time to go to Oakland with you," he said as he waited for the quinjet, go-bag in hand. ETA to the roof of Bucky's apartment building was four minutes.

"It's all right, Steve." Bucky pulled Steve to him and hugged him hard. "This one's not invasive, remember?"

"I know," Steve said. "I just want to be there."

Bucky pressed a kiss to his lips. "I'll catch up with you when I get back, okay?"

"Sure," Steve said, but what he was thinking was that maybe he'd go meet Bucky there.

It took nearly two weeks to get the Latverian robot situation sorted out, and while Steve was focused on the threat while the threat was in front of them, once it was gone, all he could think of was that Bucky was getting the arm attached without him, that he might need him and Steve wasn't there. Which was ridiculous and he knew it; Shuri's doctors were the best, and this wasn't like the surgery. Bucky wouldn't be recovering; he'd just be learning how to use his new arm.

Which Steve hadn't seen. He wondered what it looked like. Wakandan technology had an aesthetic

He missed Bucky, that was all.

When they were finally back at the Tower and debriefed, he called Bucky even before he'd had a chance to shower. It went to voicemail. Rather than leave a message, Steve sent him a text.

_Steve Rogers: Back home. Miss you._

_Steve Rogers: Let me know how it's going._

Bucky called back while he was in the shower. Steve was still drying off when he heard the buzz of a text notification. He picked up the phone and groaned when he saw the missed call.

_Bucky Barnes: glad you're back safe. any injuries?_

_Bucky Barnes: going great here, i can't wait to show you in person_

_Bucky Barnes: two more weeks and i'll be home_

_Bucky Barnes: gotta run, more tests, but I'll call you when i'm out_

_Bucky Barnes: i miss you too._

When they finally did manage to talk, Bucky told Steve not to come out to Oakland, that his time was pretty much taken up with tests and calibrations and they'd hardly see each other anyway. It made sense, and they'd see each other in a few weeks, but those two weeks in New York but without Bucky made Steve realize how deeply their lives had twined together, because his days felt so empty, and he was constantly turning to talk to someone who wasn't there. 

oOo

The quinjet brought Bucky back directly to the Tower. The entire day, Steve felt like a kid on Christmas morning, jumpy with anticipation, and trying not to let his expectations get too big. But the reality of Bucky stepping out onto the rooftop was better than Steve had expected.

He looked good, better than he had when he'd left. Calmer; nothing to be nervous about now that the procedure was over. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, his hair was pulled back, and he waved with his left hand, shiny and black in the afternoon sun.

Steve crossed the distance between them and pulled Bucky into a hard hug, and Bucky wrapped both arms around Steve in return. He smelled good, and he was warm and solid against Steve, and this was the happiest Steve had been in weeks. They stayed wrapped around each other for a minute, and then Bucky pulled back, taking Steve in. He was smiling, tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Steve wanted to touch him, to kiss the smile on his mouth, to do whatever it took to keep him smiling forever.

"You look great," Steve said, and took Bucky's duffel from him, slinging it over his own shoulder. "How does it feel?"

"Still getting used to it." Bucky smiled at him and Steve's heart actually skipped. "But I can do a lot that I couldn't do before."

"Yeah, you'll have to show me." Bucky lifted an eyebrow and Steve's face heated. He actually hadn't meant that to sounds suggestive, but...

"Oh, I plan on it," Bucky said. His voice was impossibly fond. Steve felt it down to his bones.

"I missed you." Steve started walking. He wanted to get Bucky back to his apartment, the sooner the better.

"I missed you too." Steve had to force himself not to turn back around and stare at Bucky, just from being glad to see him. "I brought you something."

"Really?" Steve was surprised; he was pretty sure Bucky hadn't had time to go anywhere for souvenirs.

"Sure did." Bucky bumped into him, and Steve carved out a place in his heart for that small touch.

Then the door to Steve's floor was opening, and he was waving Bucky into his apartment, and Bucky let his bag fall to the floor of the bedroom like it was his room too, and that was close enough to what Steve wanted to let him cross the room and fling his arms around Bucky again. Bucky turned and pulled Steve to him with both hands, and then they were kissing, and Bucky tasted like home. God, Steve was happy to taste him again, to feel them fit together like they were made for it.

"I really did bring you something," Bucky said to Steve's jaw, and then tugged him back. Steve didn't want to put too much space between them, but if Bucky wanted to give him something, then Steve was on board for it. He leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to be casual when his pulse was trying to leap out of his skin, while Bucky went to his duffel and pulled a small package out of it. He handed it to Steve with his left hand, and Steve stroked a finger across his black-and-gold palm before he took the gift. Bucky shivered.

"Do you have feeling in it?"

"Yeah." Bucky rubbed his left hand with his right, a little self-consciously. "It's different from the right. I'm still getting used to it." He shrugged and watched Steve, eyebrows raised.

Steve unwrapped the box, careful not to tear the paper. Inside was a wooden presentation box, and when he opened that, a set of tiny glass bottles nestled inside, filled with liquid in different colors. He pulled one out. A dark blue liquid sloshed from side to side inside it. "Ink?" he guessed.

Bucky's smile lit his face, almost shy. "It's tattoo ink. I asked Shuri if she could come up with something that would be permanent on you, and, well, we think this will work. If you still want me to tattoo you..."

Steve carefully put the ink back in the box and set it on the counter. His heart felt too big for his body. "Yes," he said, wrapping his arms around Bucky. "Please. I want that."

"Just pick what you want, and we'll do it," Bucky said into his neck. Steve ran his hands over Bucky's spine, the lines of his ribcage. He didn't have to think about it much at all.

"Make me one like yours," he said. "It doesn't have to go on my shoulder, just...the birds and the flowers, and a similar design."

Bucky went still under his arms, and pulled back just far enough to look at him. His eyes were very blue, and wide, almost startled-looking. "You really want—really?"

"Yes," Steve said. "If you don't mind. If you want yours to stay unique to you, that's fine too."

"No, I mean—you want me to permanently ink myself onto your skin?" It sounded even better when he put it like that, honestly.

"I do." Steve tightened his grip on Bucky's waist. "I love you."

Bucky's eyes darted from side to side, taking in Steve's face, just long enough for Steve to wonder if he should have kept quiet after all, and then Bucky was kissing him, his hands framing Steve's face, his body warm against Steve's.

"I love you too," Bucky said into his mouth, and then they were crashing into each other, stumbling toward the bedroom. They only made it as far as the couch, but that was all right; anywhere was fine with Steve if Bucky was with him.

oOo 

The buzz of the tattoo machine cut off. Steve lifted his head, muzzy with the rush of the needles and with wanting Bucky. He looked at Bucky first, even before he looked down at his chest, at the tattoo they had made together for him. Bucky's eyebrows were still drawn together in concentration as he wiped away the blood and ink, but he looked satisfied with his work. His fingers were gentle, but the sting of raw skin had Steve biting his lip. He looked down.

The tattoo was even better on his skin than it had been in the sketches they’d made. Swallows ducked in and out of thorny briars, between flowers in stages of opening from buds to full blooms. It was all shades of blue, gray, and white, following the curve of his pec.

"I love it," Steve said, which seemed inadequate for the feeling swelling up in him of being marked with Bucky's art. "Are you happy with it?"

Bucky smiled at him and smoothed ointment over the raw skin, then laid plastic wrap over it. Steve tried to swallow a moan, but that just made Bucky's grin get wider. "I am." He snapped off his nitrile gloves and tossed them aside. "It looks good on you."

Steve grabbed Bucky's hands, pulled him closer so he could kiss him. He was hungry to touch him, to be touched by him. 

Bucky seemed happy to oblige, moving into the vee of his legs, running his hands lightly up Steve's bare chest. He skirted to the side of the new tattoo, dragged his thumb over Steve's nipple, the desire that had been throbbing beneath Steve's skin burst into want that struck him with the force of a physical blow.

"Bucky," he said, and his voice was ragged. He slid his hands beneath Bucky's shirt, tugged gently at his piercings. Bucky arched into his touch, back muscles moving beneath his hands, and Steve wanted nothing more than to get his mouth on him. He pulled Bucky's shirt up, over his head, leaning forward to lick and suck at his nipples, draw the jewelry into his mouth.

He was still not used to the black and gold of Bucky's arm, but it was beautiful against the blue of his retouched tattoo. Steve stroked his fingers over the lines of it, echoed now on his own body, and was surprised all over again by his own happiness.

Bucky was watching the movement of his hand over the tattoo, his face soft in a way Steve would never get tired of looking at. He leaned in to kiss him again, softer this time, if no less wanting, and Bucky pulled away after a moment to look at him.

"Move in with me," Bucky blurted out.

"You mean it?" Steve kissed him again, heart suddenly pounding against his ribcage.

"Yeah, I mean it." Bucky dropped his head to rest on Steve's shoulder. "Although this was not the fuckin' time I meant to bring it up."

"Let's do it," Steve said, hands moving again, drawing Bucky closer. "I want to come home to you."

Bucky pulled him in closer. “That sounds good to me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @bistarbucky for the plot bunny <3
> 
> and thank you to @spacerenegades for the title <3


End file.
